Samuel
Ruark was a vile and hideous wretch of a man.Had he been born several hundred years later he would no doubt have been
a serial sex killer....a human monster whose pleasure came from the terror and
agony of his prey.He was very lucky
however, to live in the time he did.As
Lord High Executioner during a time of witchburnings he was able to rape and
murder with complete sanction of the law.True, he wasn't officially in a position to pick his own victims but
that really didn't matter.He'd discovered
on the occasions that a lovely young wench had caught his eye that whispered
rumors about the wench, no matter how untrue, into the right ears would
ultimately result in her arrest, trial and death sentance...effectively
delivering the poor girl into his clutches.He didn't bother doing that most times; because of the seemingly
frenzied paranoia about witches, the law delivered a steady stream of
delectable young ladies without any help from him at all.

One of the perks of his job was the privelege
of having his way with a woman prisoner the night before her execution.It was a privelege he availed himself of
with gleeful sadism.

Samuel was indeed a man who enjoyed his
work.

He made his way to the cell where the
latest beauty awaited her doom with even greater enthusiasm than usual.This one was a true prize with her beautiful
face, piercing blue eyes, long raven hair that hung below her waist and from
what he'd been able to tell, a gorgeous body with a delightful bosom and
darling curves in all the right places.Samuel had become almost painfully erect at the sight of her.

Almost as exciting as her beauty was her
demeanor.He'd seen them bring her in
for "questioning" then again after her trial, and she'd had the same
haughty look about her both times.He
was very much looking forward to erasing that haughty look through degradation
first....then unbearable agony when the fire he was to light would begin to
devour her tender flesh.

Samuel, wretched though he was, did possess
intelligence, and he no more believed in witches than he did fairies or other
such nonsense.He knew that the women
he executed were merely unfortunate enough to have been put in his path by the
accusations of jealous or hostile neighbors, political reasons or even
something as simple as spurning improper advances made by someone influential
in the village.It meant nothing that
they'd all confessed to witchcraft at some point before they became his.The confessions were nothing but a
formality.The tortures inflicted on
them would make them confess to anything.Knowing these things didn't cause Samuel to feel any compassion for his
victims; indeed he saw their misfortune as his gain.

As Samuel unlocked the door to her
cell--his newest charge, whose name was Miranda, he was aware of an excitement
he hadn't experienced for some time.She was kneeling on the stone floor facing the opposite wall, her back
to him, her hair like a black silk curtain covering the back of her torn and
dirty gown, nearly covering the gentle swell of her backside.She seemed to be praying, a sight he'd seen
many times during a condemned witch's final hours.

The sound of the heavy door opening caused
her glorious hair to ripple, then swish aside to reveal her face as she turned
toward the noise.Then Samuel saw
something he'd never seen before under these circumstances; instead of the
terror and despair that usually greeted him upon his "visits", the
eyes that met his were clear, free of the redness of endless weeping, and
unafraid.As he watched her, somewhat
surprised by her lack of fear at this point, he felt a momentary but strong
misgiving--almost a premonition of doom when she smiled at him sweetly.

"Hello Samuel," she said in
calm, almost lyrical dulcet tones as though they were old friends, "I've
been waiting for you".

Samuel Ruark was so momentarily stunned
that he didn't question how she knew his name.